


a man, a myth, and a monster

by KingLyonheart



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Choking, Double Penetration, Mild Femdom, Multi, PWP, Pumpkin Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Van Helsing McCree, Witch Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, asphyxia, brainwashing / memory loss, m/m/f, mcmercykill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 11:06:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14018931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingLyonheart/pseuds/KingLyonheart
Summary: mcmercykill witch-hunter au threesome.part of a longer work that was unfortunately orphaned.witch mercy and her boys; that is really all there is to it.





	a man, a myth, and a monster

**Author's Note:**

> I would first like to note this was intended to be a scene in a much, much larger fanfiction, however, various other tasks overtook my time and energy for that project with a full-blown and well developed AU world based around the concept of Witch Mercy and her pumpkin servant. I wanted to finish and share at least this scene even if the rest of the work will not see the light of day. There may be some references to the lore established in the full work that are made here that make not make much sense, but I ask you to bear with me.
> 
> At the end of the day, this is just some fun, au, threesome porn. Enjoy it.

Showing up in the woman’s quarters at night was becoming a habit, though whether or not this implied fortune or misfortune was up to interpretation. He’d come to her in the dead of night with skin rent nearly to bone thanks to the attacks of wolves in the woods, he lingered around for he felt that somehow Angela held the final key to whatever it is he was trying to unlock. Mayor Reinhardt was counting on him, after all… and if he did not finish the job, he did not get paid. Room, board, and food were all complimentary, of course, being a guest of the small town and he was working hard, whether or not he solved the mystery. He deserved something.

But the full pot? Well, that would be lost if he didn’t produce results and, as they say, time was money. He wanted to be rid of this job and on to the next--he was growing too attached to this city and her people, and he knew from all experience that was a bad idea. He did not come a-calling for medical attention, but because she had requested his presence. She had done this perhaps once before during his motn-and-a-half long tenure in this town. Her fair form had drawn him into the back room--one he did not recognize and soon was able to identify as her sleeping quarters. Elegant quilts of cornflower trimmed in white were his first impression as she dismissed herself for a moment, requesting him sit in the wooden chair near the table. It was when he looked to his right to see the contents of said table, to seek tools he recognized.

What he recognized was that pumpkin.

He recognized it about the moment the town’s healer scooped it into her ivory hands. At best he was off his game, for he had not even heard the door open. He went to scramble to his feet but froze midway between sitting and standing, one hand on the table where the pumpkin had sat. He watched her kiss the orange flesh of the gourd and place it back down inches from his fingertip. That would have been distracting enough, but he soon found himself facing the woman clad only a loose-fit night dress of periwinkle that fastened in the front with ties over her bosom.

They weren’t tied. The moonlight that glowed through the window illuminated the ivory curvature of her body, every curve visible beneath thin fabric. Jesse McCree was a brave man that had faced many a witch and werewolf, vampires and demons at times, true, but the sight of this woman in the moonlight with her hair still drawn up stilled his beating heart for a moment before he managed out: “Miss Ziegler, I--”

“Have I not told you to call me Angela?”

And so she had: at least a half dozen times his choice of name had been corrected. At best, he alternated between the two. But he stood to his full height, advantageous above her and with his hat removed in that gentlemanly way, held now in one hand.

“Right, yer right, Miss Angela. I was sayin’ this is hardly appropriate. I could come back in the day to talk business, seems you’re right ready for sleep…”

“I have no intention of sleeping yet, Jesse McCree.”

Jesse may not title himself as the wisest of men but that idea had already crossed his mind. To say there had not been flirtation in the past would be a lie, but to gaze at the curvature of bare breasts in the moonlight with ties left undone, a gown thin enough he could very nearly make out every aspect of the body beneath it (soft, for Angela was a healthy woman, with broad hips and even a bit of weight in her stomach) was a whole new reckoning as far as their relationship. Her hand was soon enough on his face, jolting him from his pointed gaze and quickly his clasped over it. His hat fell to the floor. That alone was near noncharacteristic of him, seeing as it was a gift from Reyes, it had been cradled to him almost like a child. Now? It lay upon the floor, forgotten… nudged aside by an alabaster foot before she placed it, daintily, between the heavy black boots of the hunter. 

“Would you turn me down, Jesse?”

She was soft. Her hands were soft against his jaw, against the facial hair that grew there, against the skin that had been beaten by the elements most of his life. Chapped lips parted to form some verbal response but none came to him. His hand that was still flesh gripped goldenrod hair while the hand of metal was poised upon her neck, drawing her to him in a fluid motion. She smelled like jasmine flowers, undoubtably the perfumed soap she kept in her bathing quarters. She smelled like herbs and some parts of the earth, in a strange way. And she tasted of tea, sweet and palatable on the tongue. There was a vigor and a heat, it thrummed through his veins near to a purr and overwhelmed his senses.

But his hand jerked suddenly from her hair as another hand touched it. Warm, but not in the way skin was warm. Warm in the way the sun was warm, and warm in the way that a flame was warm, but not burning. He drew back from the woman clad in periwinkle and looked over her shoulder into a pair of eyes that nearly made his blood run cold.

“Ga--”

But her hand that had gripped his face clapped over his mouth to silence him, her body against his. While his pupils undoubtedly grew wide in recognition and shock, he was regarded by a familiar--albeit scarred and greyed--face but an expression that did not belie any acknowledgement of recognition. It was as though he looked at a face that was only as familiar was something on the periphery of his mind, and for some reason that made the hunter’s chest ache.

The blonde near to him shifted to her tiptoes, spoke low into his voice. “Kürbis. He has no memory of who he was, Jesse. He knows his name is Kürbis, as I have told him, and he knows he serves me. And he loves me.”

He loves me. Jesse wasn’t sure why but that rang like a chime in his mind, and he wasn’t sure why but there were salt tears in the corner of his own that he blinked rapidly away. Gabriel--Kürbis, as Angela had called him, so Jesse tried to align that into his mind--seemed underwhelmed, perhaps a little off put by the display as the doctor’s hand moved away from his mouth. And he repeated it, the pronunciation foreign upon his tongue: “Kürbis.”

The hair that fell thick onto his shoulders shifted, the curls accented with silver and white. It showed age. So did the face. But even getting some sort of response made him ache deep inside, and he wanted to hope that maybe, just, just maybe there was something left in there of Gabriel Reyes. But this wasn’t the time to ask. Angela was against his body again, fingers gripping into the red bandanna that was tied over his shirt. “Am I selfish to desire you both?”

This was the point at which the gunslinger was absolutely certain the woman set out to kill him. How many times could a man’s heart come to a complete and grinding halt before he simply dropped dead of shock? He’d already dropped his hat. There was only so much further he could drop, honestly. “You…” His fingers were lingering on the curvature of her hips. He tasted her again, though it was fleeting. She drew away as readily as their lips met, as hands began exploring, turning from him slightly and drawing her fingers along the dark skin of the one who had been guised as the pumpkin.

Jesse had yet to notice that the pumpkin was no longer sitting on the table. He probably wouldn’t catch up on that until far later. There were two things that were considerably more distracting, at the moment: Angela and… Kürbis. That was what he was to be called now. Not Gabriel anymore, as much as it pained him to admit that.

His eyes observed as she kissed him, the movement fluid and familiar. It was like watching lovers, and he had no doubt that such was their stature--even if he hesitated to truly assess anything that such implied. He took a bit of an inhale as her fair hands twined into salt and pepper locks, curls that had been much, much shorter when he had last laid eyes on the man… assuming, that is, that this was the same man. But who else would it be? He… wanted it to be the same man. Truly. He wanted to entertain the notion that Gabriel Reyes had not merely vanished. People did not simply vanish. That was not the way of the world. At least, that was what he wanted to believe.

They kissed as lovers did, and for a moment a white-hot rose of envy bloomed in the chest of the gunslinger. Then lingered a moment of confusion as to whether he desired the perceived affection from his former comrade or the blonde with the goldenrod hair. In that moment, he could not place blame upon her for desiring them both as lovers, even if only for one night. After all, he’d leave this town eventually. He had other places to go. Others that needed his help. He couldn’t have a lover. Not in the way that someone that lived in a town could.

“You remember Jesse, don’t you?” As her lips drew from his, fingers dancing along the jaw--harsher than Jesse’s own--as she turned her eyes back to the gunslinger. “He’s been here quite a lot recently.”

“I know him, Bruja.” His voice was a low, gravelly grumble. And he remembered it. It struck every chord in his body and he felt the tears welling up, yet he quelled them. “I know the gunslinger.” It was like a grip along his spine. His stomach knotted in way he couldn’t remember--his hand moved almost without his consent to reach over the more diminutive stature of the woman between them to touch the side of the familiar face. It was with his hand that wasn’t skin, true. But there was still… something. At first, the… spectre? Whatever it was that Gabriel--Kürbis--was now, it moved away. But Angela’s hand squeezed gently on his bicep and cued a response other than a withdrawal. He leaned into the touch, though it was not human. Neither was his, truly. “I have seen him when he comes into your home.”

“It seems he likes you,” spoke her voice, fair as her skin, fair as her flaxen hair as she looked between the two. Jesse’s gaze was unwavering. He knew the eyes had not been carmine when he last looked upon them, but here they were now. But they were all that was left. They were close enough. Angela no longer separating them, he kissed the face that was the same as Gabriel’s and found strong hands gripping him in way that was almost familiar. Teeth drug at his lower lips for Kürbis was a more voracious man in his kisses than was the gentle healer. At least, she was assumed to be gentle. This assumption may well be in err, but only the future would reveal that.

Jesse was so engrossed that he did not recognize the word spoken by a familiar tongue, Bruja. He knew what it meant, and yet his mind did not click to its meaning. Not yet. Perhaps later. Or, perhaps, it was just a name. Just a name he had heard before and that was why it rang reminiscent in his mind. It was like an echo or a far off church bell tolling. It was of little consequence right now, though, in the scheme of things.

Light flashed behind Kürbis’s eyes, too, there was a thrumming ache, though slight. It was a memory. But as readily as his lips drew away from Jesse’s was there a small vial at his lips. For his headaches, so she told him. And so he believed, for he had no reason to doubt her, did he? It was of little circumstance to him. He served her, unquestioningly. 

Angela pressed her lips to the red-eyed man again but she laced her fingers yet with those of the gunslinger, tracing along his thumb along the outline of the hand. She knew the callouses well by now. As well as one other than Jesse himself could. Both men followed the lead of she who had orchestrated this, and Jesse remained oblivious to the fact the pumpkin was missing. To her credit, the doctor had executed all of this without a flaw in her plan. Not a single one.

He was upon the bed. The coat shed, the hat forgotten on the floor, he was in little but an offwhite linen shirt with the top button undone. The sound of something heavy being shucked from the shoulders of the other man reached him, but there were more important things at his attention. The important thing shifted to move and straddle him, the important thing was seated upon the width of his thighs and undoing the belt buckle that held his brown pants up, deft hands. The leather was soft to the touch, undone, the triage of buttons…

His hears heard the sound buckles that weren’t his own, but his focus still wasn’t there. She undid each button of his shirt… in the past, she had allowed him to remove it each time she had to gaze upon his chest for medical reasons. This time? She undid the buttons with her own hands. She ran her fingers along the skin bedecked by thick and highly visible hair. And dark hands marred by scars came beneath her ribcage as he observed her, gripping with familiarity. They were lover’s hands. They knew where to touch, and what to hold, and Jesse knew he would fumble and lack the finesse of one who knew the finest intricacies…

But learning was half the fun, wasn’t it? He knew they were Kürbis’s hands, for who else would they be. Those hands were quite occupied with Angela’s stomach, moving over the curve of her bust that had been so shadowed and accentuated by the moonlight, by the blue fabric of her nightshirt, by the light of the moon. It wasn’t full, not quite. But it was bright. It illuminated them, spilling over his chest, spilling over the hair decorated with silver twined like jewelry in hair that was still a glossy black, somehow. He knew little of what had become of his Gabriel, but Kürbis (even with his eyes so intense upon the flaxen haired woman between them) rent his breath from his lungs. Kürbis cupped those soft breasts in his hands, and Jesse? His hands were on more couthward curves. He gripped to the soft flesh of her hips and her butt as she vanquished the final button and lay his chest near bare before both of their eyes.

“Angela--”

“Sh, sh.”

Her hands were over his, guiding his fingers, both flesh and alchemical modification alike, to draw up the fabric of her gown. She wore nothing beneath. He had seen that in the moonlight, too. Soon he gripped the light fabric, he brushed his fingers against the skin beneath, and if he hadn’t already felt the fire in his belly being stoked, he surely did now. Like flames being fanned, it was as though it roared to life and he was glad that the pressure of his buckled belt and fastened pants were not there to cause further discomfort. He was getting hard. The touch of her skin against his, and even watching as those red eyes were focused so upon her, trained with intensity and with a flame behind them that made the gunslinger bite his lower lip. Angela smiled at him. “You enjoy watching us, Jesse?”

Beneath her, he shifted. He swallowed hard to the point that one gazing upon him would see his Adam’s Apple bob up and down and his grin was almost sheepish. “Maybe a bit. Yeah, a bit. Quite a bit.” And he saw her smiling at him as her hands moved back down his chest, delving beneath where the hair thickened leading to his groin. As she peeled away the fabric, she leaned to kiss him--and there was a rush of cold hair and the sensation of her skin against his erection as he was drawn from within that brown fabric. Thus he gasped into the kiss and he could feel her lips upturn into a grin. Her shifting caused her nightgown to rise even higher than it had been before and he was acutely aware that on either side of his thighs were her bare ones. The thrum of his heart in his ears was audible as his body reacted as it was wont to do. It was not as though these encounters were wholly common for him. One night stands, sure. But at that point, he hardly knew their name. He knew Angela. Kürbis was more of a mystery, but Gabriel he knew. If he closed his eyes and didn’t think much on it, he could be sure he knew Kürbis as well. There was quite a dichotomy from having a stranger (of either sex, because Jesse wasn’t exceptionally picky) touching him than someone he knew. They may not have been close and the term lovers felt far too familiar, but there was more to this than a casual one night stand--

Damned if his mind didn’t go white. Maybe he wasn’t paying enough attention. Maybe he was too distracted by the innumerable thoughts that raced through his head faster than any horse from here to the sea, but Angela shifted and rolled her hips just right and suddenly he was buried within her and when their lips finally broke, he saw the delicate rose hue of her lips parted as she took in breath. She’d done this before. He’d gathered that, by the way that Kürbis slid his hands along her body with the familiarity of lovers, true (there the term did not feel out of place) but damned if there were not waves washing over him already. His shirt was mostly undone. He could feel the press of her breasts against him and the splay of her hands on either side of his body as with another skilled roll of her hips fully was he within her. And unsteady hands reached up to grip the light blue of her gown.

“You do not have to treat me like china, Jesse McCree,” he heard her voice from above him and let his gaze moved to meet her blue eyes. “Kürbis never is.”

Only faint was the tickle of jealousy in the back of his mind as his eyes stole over her shoulders to look upon the face, framed by a curtain of thick, dark hair. It curled. It curled just like Gabriel’s had and he was illuminated by the moonlight and for some reason when those eyes of red flicked up to meet his he felt the heat in his gut multiply though the bearded chin only ever bothered to lift ever so as an inclination he even acknowledged Jesse. While the hunter’s touch was gentle with both his alchemical hand and the one still his by biological right, he could see the clawed hands digging into the hips of the woman even as they were deep upon him. He observed as almost trained hands served to draw up the thin gown and expose the soft curvature of the woman’s butt that he pressed himself against. The hunter hadn’t noticed the vial of lubricant being opened, tossed aside. He hadn’t noticed much except those eyes upon him and the sensation of the small jerks of her hips and the movements that kept him on edge without quite rendering any sense of lingering satisfaction.

He would wear to Christ and back, were he a praying man, that Kürbis gazed directly at him as he rolled forth and buried himself within Angela, allowing only the slightest audible grunt of satisfaction as he gripped to her hip and finally, finally tore carmine eyes from those of a softer brown. If his heart didn’t damn well stop here, he would be surprised.

“Ah…” Her voice was at his ear. For a moment, it roused him. He wasn’t sure where to focus between the two of them, feeling for a moment like the interloper but he had been invited. So he swallowed hard and perhaps pushing his limits here, clasped a hand over the clawed one of Kürbis--

Initially, he had assumed those to be gauntlets. They weren’t. His hands tapered down into black fingers that bit into skin of shining ivory, and his metal hand only added another anomalous aesthetic to the image. He held both the hand of the beast and the hip of the healer and he wore that he heard a growl sound from the man, though the woman’s lip upturned in a smirk. It seemed all of this was going swimmingly, according to her plan, and her lips parted to speak. She didn’t have the chance, though, as the one with his feet planted still firmly upon the ground rolled forward into her tight ass, in as deep as he could go. Angela gripped the sheets next to Jesse’s chest, where her hands had lingered since the beginning of this. “Ah… ah. Good boys--both of you.”

He couldn’t articulate why that merited a jolt of heat from his head down his spine and directly to his groin but it did, or maybe it was the flick of those read eyes at him but he read the cues and planted his own feet--they could have dangled down to the floor, his knees at a ninety degree angle over the bed, sure--on the frame of the bed for leveredge. It fit firmly between the heel and the flat of his boots as he gave a solid thrust up, wringing forth from the woman a gasep that rang against his ears and filled his senses, already foggy with lust, with arousal. 

She gripped his arm. His upper arm, above where it was replaced with the piece crafted by an alchemist, the piece that had been so of interest to the wife of the mayor. The muscle beneath clenched at the grip and such was likely her intention. She could delight in their physique, after all. Hell, Jesse was not complaining.

Neither was Angela.

Nor was the stoically silent Kürbis. That one seemed reluctant to even attempt to contribute to any sort of communication. 

What Jesse was next aware of was the fact that the hand that he currently did not grip moved along the arch of the woman’s back in the moonlight, seizing hair of spun gold that was worn down. Black wound in among the silken strands to unceremoniously drag her upright and the hunter found himself gazing upon her once more. He almost wished they’d stripped her of the gown, but it felt unfair. Both he and the… monster, after all, were clothed. 

“Pendejo.” --When was the last time he had heard that word, in that voice? Why did it distract his already blurred mind and make his chest clench? Kürbis spoke it the same way Gabriel did. And for a moment, curiosity burned white hot around his mind until he was drawn back by a low growl. “Too scared to touch her?”

He was touching her! His hand was laced with those dark fingers over her hips and--

Oh.

Angela took the warm hand that was unoccupied and traced it along her thigh. The gown was almost in the way, but something about it almost made the sensation of the whole ordeal more sordid. She could be naked, but why not ruin a perfectly good, perfectly-almost-see-through gown during their activities? There was a growth of hair between her legs that he was aware of from where she lowered herself upon him, but soon enough her hand released his and he was able to do exactly as the Spanish-speaking pumpkin spirit (because Jesse sure as hell wasn’t sure what to think he was now) had instructed. His fingers delved low enough beyond the folds that he was able to gather the glistening liquid her body produced and draw it upward, between swollen and parted lips to the soft and tender points that lay between. Angela, now secured around the midsection by the hand that had been knotted in her hair, emitted a sound that was a dangerous mixture between a pleased sigh and an aroused gasp. 

She was not a doll. She was made neither of porcelain or glass and she was warm beneath his touch as he rolled his hips against her. Sturdy was she in the arms of the one who so resembled his mentor and, quite frankly, the poor hunter was unsure of where to let his eyes linger. Any time those predatory eyes were upon him, any time they met his, the breath in his throat caught not unlike how Angela’s had snagged when he first let his fingers separate those soft folds, reveal the sensitive pearl beneath. To get such a sound from her, it required a touch. For him? A mere glance.

... it had been a while since he had been laid. 

Kürbis seemed to notice this. When a sound was wrought from the hunter when their eyes lingered, his lips pulled into a look of quite clear amusement before they cut down. Jesse would have indeed sworn that he rolled his hips harder into Angela after that gaze was shared and the idea alone caused that familiar tension in his groin. The woman seemed quite in tune to this and maybe even entertained the idea that it would transpire this way. Why else would she set the dominoes up if not to knock them down? But he didn’t lend the majority of his mental capacity to such thoughts. There were much better, much more appealing, and much more important thoughts to focus on.

Like the way when he gripped down with his metal hand and rolled his hips up, the sound that she emitted was the nearest thing to heaven he thought he had known in most of his days. His breath staggered in his throat again, feeling the warmth and tightness around him: damn. Damn. She was beautiful, a radiant Aphrodite bathed in moonlight and held in the arms of Hades himself and here was the hunter, Jesse McCree, a mere mortal in their presence.

The analogy was ephemeral, true, and his accuracy was probably not the best… seeing as, well, it was Persephone who was in the clasp of Hades, not Aphrodite. Wasn’t Aphrodite the daughter of Zeus, and thus the niece of Hades? Probably. But that probably wouldn't matter much to Greek Gods. Sick bastards.

… But how judgemental could he really be?

Angela’s breasts were pressed against his chest again. The shift in proximity caused him to remove his hand from between them, no longer able to stimulate her as he had been before. Short was the sound of protest before it died in his throat, he swallowed it as he felt the bit of clawed fingers against his skin. Fingers. Those weren’t gloves. It sure as shit wasn’t the healer’s hand around his neck and he knew that. It was Gabriel--Kürbis--that gripped to him, that cut off the flow of air to his lungs. Up did his chin tilt as he stole in a gasp of breath before the grip only tightened. He swore he heard a low, gravelly chuckle that he’d heard at least once before--

“Don’t hurt him, Kürbis,” and her voice was a positive purr against his ear. She kissed the skin there gently, knowing that though her voice was low, oh, it was heard: “No more than he likes, anyway.”

“Every fucking hunter has a masochistic streak,” came the low sound. Damned if that baritone wasn’t like a python around his viscera, a tightness in his organs that prompted an almost forceful inhale, choked though it was with the hand around his neck. God, that had to be Gabriel. There was no one else in this wide world that it could be, although his name was different. The hand now released from the duty of tending to the healer lifted to grip tight the wrist attached to the hand that was coiled around his neck. It was only out of instinct for there was no real attempt made to liberate himself from the grip, only a quick, hearty intake.

“You sayin’ I ain’t the first one you’ve met?” The drawl was almost enhanced, almost lurid with the saturation of the accent that belied his origins. Chapped lips, well framed with thick facial hair, formed a smirk as his fingers gripped the skin beneath sleeves that he had moved out of the way. “Mighty big assumption to make off one man.”

Still against him was the healer’s body and he heard the chime of her chuckle against his ear. “Surely, Jesse, you do not think you are the only hunter to come to this town. The only hunter that my Kürbis has met? Men fear powerful, wise women. And I do not only refer to myself.” 

There was a shift. Hands were released, moved, the hand of alchemical make was twined in the woman’s hair (now liberating Kürbis’s taloned digits) and directed her lips against his. They could talk later. Hell, they could drop the subject, but even though there was a tight grip around his neck he demanded affection from the woman who had purred in his ear.

More pressing matters, after all. Like how the hunter planted the flat of his boots against the floor and pushed his hips up, deeper into her, hearing her groan, feeling as her body tensed up and--in turn--prompted a gutteral sound from Kürbis. Something that was an amalgamation of a groan and a growl and sent another shockwave down his spine, through every bit of his body, to his toes, to his fingers, resulted in a groan against the lips of the healer. She laughed. The sound was muffled, but based on the way her fingers came to grip to his shoulders, the way she moved (as much as she could, essentially pressed between the bodies of the two men), Jesse gathered with relative ease that the interaction betwixt the two men was damned near as arousing to her as the physical stimulation she received.

In hindsight, what had he come into this expecting?

He didn’t last. He knew he wouldn’t, and there was scarce a chance for him to offer any warning further than scraping her lower lip with his teeth. Assumptions lead him to believe that Kürbis came in kind shortly thereafter and Angela herself soon enough was nearly limp upon him in that moment, hands gripping tight as muscles contracted around him, still deep within her, rolling his hips to ride the final moments of his own climax as she reached hers. A cascade of salt-and-pepper black hair spilled over her shoulder and the hunter was aware of the fact that Kürbis leaned down to place kisses upon her back, upon her shoulders, with actions that were the most delicate that the hunter could have imagined of him.

“Good boys,” as she came back to herself, body still shaking slightly, a hand petting the spilling black tendrils amorously, lips brushing the corner of Jesse’s. “My good boys.”


End file.
